Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Story of H	By : AnyaToile Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 62388 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters associated with it; I am not making any sort of money or compensation for this work.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author’s Note:   I’m pleasantly surprised at the attention this has garnered- most of it is pretty positive so far. I was expecting perhaps a few reviews which stated that this was disgusting, made no sense, and was poorly written (I do see the few typos scattered throughout and I will fix those as I go back to make changes, but bear with me as I strive to just get the story written, because we’re not even a quarter of the way through).

SnakeGirl- The idea of an enema and the threat of humiliation I think is what draws submissive types to it. I have my limits of what I’ll actually do, but that looming possibility of what could happen is what makes it so exciting. You’ll also see that as the story progresses, there will be much more inner reflection and a lot more plot than smut, though I like smut so there will be plenty of it. I know exactly what is going to happen and where this is going. I won’t reveal any plans though. *Insert Evil Laugh*

Melanthe- You know, I’ve always wondered why there weren’t any stories with a least a little enema play between my favorite pairing. After all, Snape lends himself to being the total dominator and one who rather enjoys watching Hermione “humbled” often. Maybe this will start a new trend in plot lines?

To the rest of my readers, thanks for taking interest and let me know your thoughts in a message or a review.   Enjoy.

                The air went from frigid to subzero as a golden-flecked galaxy starred into an onyx storm.

                Snape’s hand slowly left Hermione’s face, but they both held their level gazes. Snape’s brows knit together and his mouth was set in a firm, thin line, while Hermione’s nostrils flared with each huff. He was insufferable.   No matter how intelligent or handsome he was.   Severus Snape was a vindictive, hateful man.   How dare he undermine her when she had exerted herself to point of nearly breaking just for his approval time and time again. He deserved his self-imposed isolation and misery. And she refused to give him the pleasure of her giving in.

                Hermione was the first to break eye contact as a cramp went rolling through her stomach causing her to wince.

                “You have one minute left, Miss Granger,” the challenge was evident in his voice as Snape spoke to her.

                He stood up and turned to go back to the sinks. After he had taken a step, he stopped, looked over his shoulder and said, “Breathe,” as if it was obvious. Hermione lifted a hand from her stomach and made a crude gesture at his back before being rewarded with an ill-timed cramp that made her grunt rather indelicately.

                Snape stood in front of the furthest sink from her and began to run water into the enema bag again. Hermione’s eyes widen and she gasped in horror.

                “You need not worry, Miss Granger,” his voice sounded suddenly very tired, “I am simply washing and rinsing everything. It should be done immediately in order to prolong the life of the equipment and ensure bacteria does not grow.”

                Hermione let out a sigh of relief and closed her eyes. They popped back open when she heard Snape say, “It should be dry in time for your next treatment tomorrow night.”

                “Sir, isn’t this sufficient?”

                “No. The amount of potion those insufferable Weasley twins slipped into the cake will have lasting effects that no muggle treatment will be able to counter. You will have to continue treatments until the antidote is completed.”

                Hermione’s voice was laced with worry.

“How many days left?”

“Brewing will commence tomorrow.”

“You haven’t even started?” Hermione shrieked.

Snape turned sharply on his heel to face her, a sneer firmly in place as he said, “Do you not think I have other responsibilities which trump the need to restock the infirmary after every major display of idiocy by the student body? Or have you forgotten that I teach and am head of house? But of course, Hermione Granger feels so incredibly entitled as to expect everyone around her to anticipate her every need. Potter’s company has done you no favors.”

Hermione looked away and sniffled. It was several more moments before Snape stalked past her, dawned his outer robes, and with his bag in hand stalked towards the portal.

“You may release now.”

With those words he stepped out into the hall and left Hermione to empty her bowels for the first time in three days.

When she was finished and her necessities done, Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed; distinct tear tracks, though dry now, marked her face with salty residue; her nose was red; her hair around her face had become drenched in sweat and clung to her forehead and cheeks in tangled strands; the rest of it frizzed, the curls having much earlier in the night been crushed and separated.

She went to put on her shorts to leave, but stopped and considered something.

Hermione had often looked at her quim with a mirror as her mother had taught her to do to ensure there were no abnormalities. It was as routine as her self-breast exams. And because of the spatial relation, Hermione had often seen her other hole. Curiousness seized her and she slowly turned around so that her back was to the mirror above the sink. Standing of tip toes and bending slightly forward, Hermione craned her neck to look over her shoulder and pulled her cheeks apart. The pink ring of muscle sat innocently enough above a thick growth of brown hair that covered her quim below. It didn’t look any different. Red, yes, but it didn’t appear stretched or torn or swollen.

There was a slightly pink hand-shaped mark on the left side of her bottom from where he struck her earlier, but that was the only indication that Severus Snape, dreaded potions master, had been so close to such an intimate area.

Hermione wondered what it would have looked like if something bigger than his finger had entered there. Like the large silver nozzle he had pulled out of the bag, of course, because she couldn’t bring herself to think of what else he could have used. The longer she stood there trying to picture it, the more intense her thoughts became as she imagined what it would feel like. Would it be as wonderfully hypnotizing as his finger’s rhythmic ministrations had been?

Hermione felt her cheeks burn with shaming as she thought back to her loose display earlier. He probably thought she was some sort of freak, a nymphomaniac who would have gladly humped anything.

Hermione understand the mechanics of sex and the nuances that went with it from the books she’d read on the subject. But what was “normal” for a modern woman wasn’t found in any Hogwart’s texts.

Hermione pulled on her robe and wrapped it tightly around her to shield herself from the dungeon chill before sliding her shorts on underneath it.

She set off to walk the five flights back to her dormitory. Luckily, no one would be there to ask questions since she had one to herself as head girl. McGonagall had always treated Hermione with a slight partiality – she was one of her favorite students – so when the school year started, Hermione was chosen as head girl despite her now having to repeat a year. Lucius Malfoy, who had been reinstated to the board of governors for Hogwarts after he was absolved of all charges (the slippery bastard and his entire family had been acquitted because of their last minute defect to the light), had fought vehemently against the decision. McGonagall had convinced the board, however, that duty to wizarding society outweighed propriety and cited the fact that if Hermione hadn’t been trying to defeat Lord Voldermort, she would have been head girl. Thus, Hermione found herself enjoying the luxury of a private room and shared common room with a Ravenclaw boy named Thomas Sealy, the head boy.

Though, honestly, Hermione would have given anything to be in the dorm with the other girls tonight. At least then she might have a chance of knowing what to make of her reaction of what happened during her “treatment.” Hermione knew from snippets of conversation in the girls’ dorm during sixth year that she probably shouldn’t like this. She recalled how Lavender Brown had groaned to Padma Patil that her bottom was incredibly sore and that she was angry at how her boyfriend expected her to let him in her “back door like some common whore.” Was that what she was? Was Hermione a whore for enjoying the attentions?

If Hermione was honest with herself, the entire experience had been enjoyable in a sick, demented way. Standing in the corner bond like she had been had made her quim wet enough to leak down her thighs like a river. She’d felt a wave of wetness between her legs every time he had barked at her or berated her. And that throbbing need had never subsided during the ordeal; in fact, it was as if they had intensified as her humiliation increased.

She’d ignored it then because she had to, yet now as she was climbing the last flight of stairs, she couldn’t help but remember those feelings she’d pushed aside. The need has lessened a bit since Snape had stalked out of the bathroom and left her alone, but as she replayed the most intense moments in her head, she felt the moisture gather and grow on the crotch of her shorts.

                “Dear God, what a whore,” she said in a breathy whisper.

                “Excuse me?” the painting of Cleopatra stood before her with her hands on her hips and an indignant look on her face.

                “Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, “Didn’t mean you. Frolicking Fairies.”

                The portrait swung open and as Hermione stepped through, her thoughts were, “What will the house elves think when they wash these shorts?”
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The Story of H